


My Heart is like a Stallion

by StoryQueen



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (Tags will be updated with new chapters...), Antisocial Personality Disorder, Anxiety, Art, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Chapter Art, Execution, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, Hallucinations, Harassment, Harry Styles - Freeform, Insanity, Liam Payne - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Niall Horan - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychopath, Pyromania, Recovery, Schizophrenia, Swearing, Taunting, Zayn Malik - Freeform, Ziam Mayne - Freeform, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, ziam, ziam palik - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoryQueen/pseuds/StoryQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I WROTE THIS DURING A WEIRD PHASE!!! THIS FIC IS WEIRD AND CONFUSING!!! READ WITH CAUTION!!!</p><p>"One day I woke up, and I found my mum dead in the kitchen. She was the one who drove me here."<br/>"I don't understand."<br/>"Neither do I..."</p><p>(Or the one where Harry has been taken to a youth mental institution, where he meets the other boys...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Hey! 
> 
> Heads up, you'll need to read this carefully. No doubt there will be a few points where you retrace what you've read to understand it.
> 
> Since it's about what Harry sees, some things in this aren't real; they're in Harry's head. Keep that in mind, okay. You'll understand after the first chapter. Just take care when reading, since you might gloss over important words...
> 
> Example (from chapter 2): Harry watched the flat-screen plasma TV that never stood on the opposite wall. [There is no TV; it's a hallucination...]
> 
> Hope this helps! :D

 

He knew it would probably take some time to heal, but right now he just wanted to crawl up under his duvet covers and curl up into a ball and just fade into nonexistent. He didn't care about the golden gates that his mum pointed out. He didn't care about the extended pebbled driveway that crunched under the tyres of the car. He didn't care about the five storey, one-thousand rooms, one-hundred acre mansion that sat in front of him just beyond the white marble fountain. His mum nudged him in the side.

"See, dear, you'll be fine here. You'll be living better here." It was true. He was leaving his two bedroomed box house to live in this mansion, leaving his mum and sister behind. He still didn't want to be here. He still didn't care.

He leant against his mum's blue car and sighed. There was a storm coming, he could smell it in the air, and his feet dug into the stones, determined not to be moved, even if the Heaven's opened and drenched him into insanity. That's why he was here, wasn't it: to become more insane? His mum was convinced that the opposite would happen, that he would be cured, but still, he didn't care.

His mum sighed when she turned to look at him. "For God's sake, Harold." She stomped over and grabbed the wrists of his brown coat, tugging him away from the car. "Stop moping and start smiling. You'll love it here."

Harry sniggered, reluctantly taking a step to stand beside his mother. "What, while they shock m--"

"Harry, I've already told you, electric shock therapy is illegal. They're not going to torture you."

Harry pouted as his mum tugged his sleeve again, making him walk towards the house. "They're gonna make me live off pills." Harry shuddered. "They're gonna drug me up and sell me to the circus, you know, right?"

His mum let go of his sleeve and playfully slapped his around the back of his head. "Behave, Harold."

When the enormous front doors opened, the smell of sanitiser hit Harry in the face, and he stumbled back, trying to get outside again into the fresh air, but a hand was on his sleeve again, this time from a man- a nurse- in light blue scrubs. Harry looked at his mother, a sweet smile on her lips. He _should_ trust this man, but he didn't. He yanked his arm away and folded it across his chest, walking past him to stand in front of the reception desk with his mother.

The receptionist gave Harry a warm smile, her pearly white teeth reflecting the bright, long ceiling lights, blinding Harry momentarily. "Hello. You must be Harold."

"Harry."

The lady coughed slightly but her smiled stayed pasted onto her face. Harry saw one muscle, the one at the side of her lips, twitch ever-so slightly, and men in black suits rushed out of the door just behind the desk and took her away for not doing her job properly. They probably executed her behind back, no trail, no justice, no--

"Sorry?" He realised she was still here, and that there wasn't any blood dripping from the nonexistent bullet hole in her forehead.

She smiled- never faulting- and she sighed. She ignored Harry now and spoke to his mum. "Dr Lowlife refereed him here?"

Harry wanted to smile. Yeah, the doctor was lowlife. He wanted to take his fancy-ass framed glasses and ram them through his eye sockets until he was drowning in his own blood, but he wouldn't do it. The doctor was probably in his lakeside home in Sweden right now, or his tropical getaway in the Amazon, or wherever else rich-ass doctors buy their houses when they're not working in the middle of nowhere in the centre of Britain. Harry hated Dr Lowlife.

"Room 5B7."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the receptionist. She sighed again- a very impatient lady- and she took a piece of paper from behind the desk- a map- and put it on the table for Harry to see. She pointed at the layout of the fifth storey. "Storey five, block B, room 7."

"Why do you say 'storey five'? It's floor five."

"Harold!" his mother snapped, nudging him in the ribs again. Harry glared at her shoulder- he didn't dare look her in the eyes- and rubbed his side.

The man in the light blue scrubs stood behind Harry. "Nurse Paul here," the receptionist said, pointing at the nurse, "will show you to your room. Your bags will be brought up within the hour." She paused, looking at Harry's mum. "Time to say goodbye."

Harry rolled his eyes when his mum bursted out crying. She draped herself on him, arms around his neck, face staining his black T-shirt with tears on his shoulder. Harry closed his eyes, trying his best not to say anything, and heavily patted his mother's back, letting out a long, loud, sarcastic sigh. "Yes, mum, goodbye." She didn't snap, just cried as she was escorted out.

The corridors were long. Harry cursed the facility already. Imagine putting him on the fifth floor, four flights of stairs to walk up and down each day to go for meals on the ground floor. And what about the day room he was promised, the one with the arcade games and the pool table? Second storey up. So many stairs.

The nurse- Paul- chuckled. "You'll loose some weight climbing these every day."

Harry's hand clenched on the handrail. "You callin' me fat?"

Paul chuckled again and shook his head. "Nah. You're fine."

They made it to the floor, and Harry silently thanked the seemingly inconsiderate God. Block B was through two double doors with password/swipe card mechanisms. His room was no better. Thick iron bars locking the door and covering his window. Chains hung along the walls, ball and chains dotted around the solid, concrete floor, nooses made out of previous victim's ties and bedsheets desperately wrapped around the broken light wires. Harry gulped.

"Here you go," Paul said with a smile, and Harry entered the plain, white room, the one with the single bed in the corner, light illuminating the room with a general warmth of care and attention, not the prison he swear he thought he saw. He looked around a second- could do with a splash of paint, maybe a dark shade of forest green to match his eyes, or a shade of chocolate brown to match his hair- but then sat down at the foot of his bed. Memory foam. Rich-ass doctors.

Dr Lowlife was just the doctor that refereed him here. The doctor that owned this maze of a mansion was Dr Edinbra, a man who, on the leaflet Dr Lowlife handed Harry's mum, looks like President Snow from the Hunger Games movies that Harry used to watch with his older sister. Rich-ass, evil sons of bitches who feed off other people's misfortunes.

"Your bags will be up soon. Afternoon tea is at seven. Nurse Joanne will come and collect you then. We ask that you stay in your room for your first day. You can make friends tomorrow." Harry glare at Paul. Paul kept smiling. Again, the FBI men came along and dragged him away, but he was still stood there, and Harry ignored the confusion in his mind. "Is there anything you need, Harry?"

Harry's face stayed plain, except the glare that he had maintained since entering the golden gates on this Hellhole. The corner of his lips curled. "A handgun and one big, fat bullet might just cut it."

Paul gave a shallow laugh before rolling his eyes, turning and closing the doors behind him. And then there was silence.


	2. Breath

Nurse Joanne knocked on the door, and it fell to the floor, and the huge, pulsating muscle of a human in a tight nurse outfit came storming in, except Nurse Joanne was nothing like that, and in fact seemed quite sweet, like a sugar coated arsenic pill. "Harry, time for afternoon tea."

"Tea and crumpets in the conservatory?"

Nurse Joanne laughed, a girly, high pitched yet sweet giggle- Harry thought she might have a crush on him, since she looked pretty young- and she held her hand out, wiggling her fingers, wanting Harry to take her hand. "We'll be eating in the dining room, if that's okay with you?"

Harry slowly rose from the bed where he had been sitting for the past hour, watching the flat-screen plasma TV that never stood on the opposite wall. He hated the plainness of this room... Nurse Joanne kept her hand out, but Harry ignored it- he didn't like her bright pink nail polish- and pushed past her slowly to get out of his claustrophobia room into the tight, thin corridor. He needed to breath.

Nurse Joanne tugged his jacket that he still hadn't taken off- only good thing about this place, Harry thought, was that he was allowed his own clothes- and he followed her down to the stairs. Again, Harry cursed the facility. The stairs were crowded this time, tighter than the corridor, and all he could feel was the barbed rocks and boulders that crushed into his sides. He pushed past the mass of people making their way to the dining room and stepped to the side when he got to the landing of the third floor.

He waited until the crowd was gone, along with Nurse Joanne, as he navigated his way to the dining room, taking a seat close to the grand, wooden doors that stood at the head of the room. Everyone stared at him, only they weren't, too focused on their food, but he could still feel their gazes and judgement. The guy sat opposite him smiled. "Hey! Never seen your face around h--"

"Shut up." And Harry dug his fork into the bird and ripped it with his blunt knife. BBQ chicken; his favourite.

He thought he was ignored for about ten minutes, but then the lad tapped his arm. Harry yanked his arm away and glared at him. "What?"

"What's your name?"

"Fuck off."

"Nice to meet you, 'fuck off'."

Harry stopped glaring at him. Instead, he reached forward and grabbed the plate of half-eaten chicken, mash potato and peas and lifted it up. A hand grabbed his wrist before he could dump it on the guy's face. "What the Hell are you doing?"

Harry turned, dropping the plate onto the table and pulling his hand away. Another guy stood at the end of the table, glaring at Harry. Harry didn't reply, just sulked in his seat, poking at his dead chicken. The new guy took a seat next to the annoying one, and Harry soaked up the outcastism that seemed to penetrate him. He ignored the ground below him swallowing him up, realising that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Who is he?"

"His name is 'fuck off'."

Harry stabbed his chicken.

"What's he in for?"

"Don't know."

"Pass the salt, will ya, Li?"

Li. The annoying guy who had spoke to him was called Li. Awesome. He could do a lot with that information, like write him love letters and invite him to pretty pink tea parties. Or he could turn the fork around in his hand and scoop out Li's eyeballs while the terrorist dude watched on.

"Yo." Harry looked up, glaring at the Arab. "What's ya real name?" His smile was charming, to say the least, and Harry glared harder at it.

"Why should I tell you?"

The bloke gave a laugh, looking over his shoulder's briefly to see if anyone was listening. He turned back and lowered his gaze at Harry. "I run things around here. I'm the one you don't want to be on the wrong side of, okay?" He smirked. "And since you almost dumped that food on my boyfriend, I would consider cooperating with me, because things could turn ugly."

Harry was silent for a moment, and he watched as the horns grew out of the messy, bed head tangle of hair on top of the red, fiery skinned man's head, the long, thin, spiked tail circling round Li's waist, pulling him closer, but then Harry blinked and replied, "Harry."

"Like Harry Potter?" God, Li was such a noob. The only thing stopping Harry from making eye-scream was the spawn of the Devil sat next to Li.

The demon smirked again, holding a hand out across the table. Harry ignored it. "Zayn. If you do as I say, then you'll survive in this place."

Li smiled at Harry. "Zayn can get you anything; cigarettes, dope, money... lighters." Zayn nudged Li, a silent, inside thing between them that Harry wanted to challenge, but he didn't. Instead, Harry looked at Li.

"You're Li?"

"Liam."

Zayn wrapped his arm around Liam, locking eyes with Harry, and Harry could see the illuminate 'back off' sign above his head, which was funny, since it seemed like they were trying to make 'friends' with Harry, but he ignored it and went back to poking at his chicken.

They were having a movie night in the cinema room, since it was Friday night, but Harry couldn't be arsed watching Teletubbies, or whatever it was they put on for mentally ill people. Liam had said it was The Nightmare Before Christmas, since the holiday was a week away, but Harry couldn't care less. He trundled his way back to his room and fell backwards onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. His bags were already in the corner, needing to be unpacked, and he could have left them there if it weren't for the hands reaching out from under him and pushing him upwards, prodding and poking at him until he opened the case, ripping out his clothes, trashing his picture perfect room until his fingers clasped around the hard cover and he brought the notebook to his chest. He breathed again.

He opened it and stared at the blank page, and slowly it began to fill up, a pathetic hero, a damsel who kicks arse, a bad guy who only deals drugs to support his family, all the other things that typical movies and stories didn't have, yet he never opened his pen, and when he blinked the ink fell through the pages, through the mattress and onto the floor, and his work was lost.

It was around half one in the morning that Harry got under the thick, warm duvet cover and curled up, and the warmth radiated through him until he was on fire, but he relaxed into it, use to the stress of the flames burning at his skin, and he fell asleep with claws scratching at the window and faces pressing through the walls, watching his while he tried not to breath.


	3. Dead

It was the next day that Harry met Louis. He awoke at six to see blue eyes staring at him. "Morning."

"Who are you?"

"Louis." Louis sat up on the bed opposite Harry and smiled at him. "You look cute with bed hair."

"When did you get in here?" Harry sat up as well, self-conscientiously patting his messy hair.

Louis smiled again, cocking his head to the side. "Lat night. They moved me in here--"

"The bed as well?"

"No," Louis pointed to the door on the wall, a wardrobe, that Harry hadn't noticed before. "Got it from in there."

Harry grunted. "You new as well?"

"No." Louis paused. "But you're new, right?"

Harry chuckled deeply. "Fuck off."

"Well, nice to meet you, Harry." Louis held his hand out for Harry to shake. Harry stared at it.

"How do you know my name?"

Louis' smile faulted for a moment before it came back, bigger and brighter. "Zayn told me all about you."

Harry squinted at him, suddenly hating him more than he did when he first saw him. He lay back down on his bed, back facing Louis, and pulled a face at the walls. He heard Louis move behind him, probably getting dressed out of his blue plaid pyjamas. Louis chuckled. "You didn't ask why they moved me."

"I really don't care. If they can move you quickly enough into here, then they can do the same moving you out."

"Well," Louis was going to tell him anyway, "my old roommate was an arsehole. He beat me up. They thought I'd be safer rooming with you."

"What made them say that?" Harry turned onto his back so that he was staring at the ceiling, watching Louis in his peripheral vision. Louis was only in his boxers, not that Harry was watching him getting dressed. It was simply precautionary; Louis could try and stab him, or something. He didn't know who this boy was, didn't know what he was like, and until Louis knew where his place was, in silence the other side of the room, Harry wouldn't feel safe around him.

Louis pulled his skinny jeans up, hopping to get them to fit. "Well, they didn't say you were safer, they just-" he breathed in to fasten the jeans, sighing out when he had done the button "- thought you wouldn't beat me up." Louis reached at the end of the bed, picking up his shirt, bringing to his chest as he spoke to Harry. "You're not going to beat me up, right?"

Harry rolled his eyes and then closed them. "I won't--"

"Thank yo--"

"-- because I'd have killed you before I had chance to beat you up." Harry opened one of his eyes slowly to watch Louis' reaction, but he was gone, the door open and footsteps echoing down the corridor. Nurse Joanne popped her head through the door.

"Harry, love, get dressed and come down for breakfast. We're having toast and--"

Harry threw a shoe at the door, and Nurse Joanna was gone too.

He sat in the same seat as last time. He didn't look around for Louis, but he also didn't spot him, not that he cared. Liam sat opposite Harry again, and Harry's shoulders tightened when he spoke. "Morning Harry."

Harry didn't answer. He poked his soggy toast and glared at his burnt bacon. He wished Liam would burn like his bacon. In fact, he could feel the heat. He could smell the burning flesh, just like it had smelt when he fell onto a tea candle when he was seven. He could see the flames reflecting off his spoon, and he looked up to find Liam happily, comfortably endorsed in the fire. But then Zayn was stood there, and like a tsunami, the flames were washed away and reality crashed back in. Zayn stroked his thumb over the burn marks on Liam's upper arm. Harry squinted in confusion. He saw them too?

"What are you staring at?"

Harry glared at Zayn. "Never you mind."

Zayn chuckled, leaning away from Liam to tuck into his food. He took a bite from his toast and gave another chuckle. "You didn't watch the film last night."

"I'm not a prisoner," Harry said, "I can do what I like."

Liam gave a smile. "We saved you a seat, though."

"I don't care."

"Neither do I," Zayn spat out, but then Liam was nudging him and Zayn calmed down. "Liam wants to be friends with you."

"Then Liam's fucked up in the head, isn't he?" Harry expected Zayn to be outraged by this- he wanted Zayn to react- but instead Zayn laughed again and threw an arm around his boyfriend.

"Yep, that's why he's here. Lil Liam's got big problem going on upstairs."

Liam blushed, somehow flattered by what Zayn had said, but Harry pushed past it and went back to his meal.

"So, what are you in here for, Harry?" Liam asked as if it were the most casual thing in the world.

Harry tried to ignore them, but then his food was becoming mouldy and full of maggots so he had to put them down and look up. "Never you mind."

"Well," Liam kept trying, "I'm in here because I have a impulse control disorder."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Zayn laughed. "It means he's hot!" Harry glared again at Zayn, but the man continued speaking. "They locked me up in here so that I can rule everyone in here."

Liam rolled his eyes. "Ignore him. He's just as important as Nick over there." He nodded his head in the direction behind Harry. Harry turned around in his seat and gazed across, and the sea of people split as if Liam was Noah and Nick shone brightly from the far end of the dining room, graciously sat on the table, his group of disciples gathering round, listening to his tales of plenty. The Harry blinked, and Nick was stuffing jam-coated toast into his fat, greedy gob. Harry winced, turning back in disgust.

"Not that important, then?"

"Hey," Zayn butted in, slamming his hand on the table, getting the attention of most people on the table, "You're nothing to anyone here, Harry. You're a nobody who mummy-dearest couldn't handle." Zayn lowered his voice and his head, staring through the jungle that grew where his eyelashes should be. "That was your mother who dumped you here, right?" He gave a cold laugh. "She's hot!"

Liam reacted before Harry did, nudging his boyfriend in the ribs. Then Harry reacted. He stood up, raising an arm, his fist clenched, but then he was pushed into the table, his face and chest pressed into the cold, harsh plastic. The person behind him fell away, and Harry got up and swung around, and a body was falling into his again, straight into his arms. They both fell to the floor.

Harry scrambled to get from under the dead body. He could feel the blood soaking his clothes. He could smell the stench of decaying flesh. He could hear the guts spilling onto the floor. The cadaver pushed itself off the floor and look at Harry; a zombie. Harry covered his head, protecting his brain. The zombie looked terrified. "I'm sorry..... I'm sorry."

Two nursed picked up the boy and helped him out of the room, and Harry stared at the space where he once lay. Liam knelt by his side. "Harry, stand up, everyone's staring." Harry slowly took Liam's arm, accepting the help up, but then yanked his arm away once he was steady on his feet. He turned to Liam.

"What...?"

"I guess you've met Niall, then..."


	4. Fall

Harry discovered the garden, and needless to day, he claimed a small, tatter bench on the far side of the garden, hidden behind a dead oak tree, facing the thick, dead matter of branches and thorns that was once the bordering hedge. This side of the garden was out of view of the naive mother who dropped their troubled children off; this was it's true side. He sat down, closing his eyes, breathing in slowly, relishing the smell of decay that hung in the air like a thick air freshener.

There was a war going on beyond the oak. There was screams and cries, swords clanking and guns firing. The blood reak mixed with the decay smell and clung to Harry's clothes. Bodies collapsed on the floor, people mourned, and the sounds curdled together until it was just background noise, and Harry cursed the inventor of football.

He jumped when Louis poked his head from around the tree. "There you are, Harry!"

Harry mumbled and groaned to himself, reluctantly budging up for Louis to sit down. He thought Louis would be the type to be stubborn, not stop pestering until Harry gave him what he wanted.

Louis sat down and grinned at him. "So, Harry, since we're friends now, we should--"

"We're not friends."

"-- tell each other about ourselves." Louis shuffled closer towards Harry, and Harry clung to the mouldy wood beneath him to keep his balance.

"So," Louis started, "my name is Louis--"

"I don't care."

"-- and I'm twenty-two years old--"

"I don't care."

"-- and I'm in here because I have pos--"

Harry stood up, flaring his arms in the air, face scrunched up tight. "Fuck off, Louis! I really don't care! Go fuck yourself!"

Louis' shouldered were hunched, drawn in close, and Harry saw the way he jumped when Harry exploded. He didn't have the time to label the emotion Louis was feeling before Nurse Joanne's voice sing-songed over the noise of the football match: "Louis!"

Louis hung his head, slowly rising. "I'll see you later, Harry." And then he was gone.

Harry wandered round the depleted corridors for the next few hours. He didn't know what he was looking for, since he didn't want to talk to anyone yet wanted attention, and he didn't want to do anything yet hated being bored. He didn't want to go back to his room, because he knew Nurse Joanne would be lurking around, trying to get him to interact with some of the other patients. Harry didn't want that. He hated 'making friends'.

He found himself on the second floor, after walking through all the bedroom floors, and he discovered the day room. And yep, there was the pool table, currently being used as a bed for the ginger cat who seemed to live in this room, and as a writing table for a small, nerdy girl who wrote like her life depended on it- probably did- and the arcade games as well, they were there, on their sides as a muscled boy around Harry's age had Hulked them over and was being pinned down by two male nursed. Joy.

"Not much to look at, I know." Liam stood next to Harry with a grim smile on his face.

Harry narrowed his eyebrows. "They promised me Heaven." Harry snorted. "Oh, right, they're gonna kill me from boredom. They're pretty confident about me going to Heaven."

"Why," Liam asked as they both sat down on a slightly damn sofa in the day room away from all the hustle by the arcade games, "you going to Hell, or something?"

Harry laughed- really laughed, for the first time in forever- his head tilted back and one palm resting on his tightened stomach while the other slapped his leg. "Geez," he exclaimed, patting Liam's shoulder harshly, laughter continued, "I think they'd be too scared of me." Harry calmed down slightly. "They'll probably send me to Purgatory, or something."

"Isn't Purgatory just the waiting room before you go to Heaven or Hell?"

Harry gave Liam a seriously look. "Geez, you must be fucked up in the head to not have watched Supernatural."

"Oh, I did watch it," Liam said sheepily, tugging at his long sleeves, "but only up to Season Five. They dragged me into here before I could finish it."

Harry gasped over-dramatically, bringing his hand up to pat Liam's shoulder again, this time gentler. "My God, Liam, those monsters. The things you've missed out on." Harry chuckled. "I mean, what would you do if an Alpha came storming in right now?"

"What's an Alpha?"

Harry laughed again, his chest rattling, and Harry could feel the storm clouds, the thunder echoing up and out of his mouth like a snake, the lightning tickling his muscles, sending shocks of dopamine through his veins. He felt it shimmer into a light rain storm, and he stopped shaking. He turned to look at Liam, and he realised the friendship blooming like a pretty, pink, girly rose, and Harry glared at Liam. "Fuck off, Liam."

"Why don't you?"

And of course Zayn showed up, because this was Liam Harry was messing with, and of course it was his guard-bitch who protected him. Harry ignored Zayn for a moment before turning to glare at him. "Zayn."

"Harry."

"Liam!" Liam sat with a grin on his face, and only Zayn smiled slightly at his joke.

"You are a crazy bitch."

"I'm your crazy bitch."

"And I'm leaving." Harry stood up, ignoring the rope wrapped around his ankles, the harpoon impaling his chest, and he tugged on the bungee cord and made it out of the room, and he learnt against the prison walls and sighed. "Fuck," he mumbled under his breath. He was breathing fast, his heart racing, bursting, and he felt the floor come quickly towards his face, but he stayed stood up, and before he knew it he was back in his room, dizzy as fuck, but he lay on his bed, ignoring the boy curled up reading a book on the opposite bed, and fainted into the covers.


	5. Space

Someone nudged him awake, and he expected Louis, but it wasn't, because he didn't remember Louis having blonde, curly hair, grey eyes and bright red lipstick. "Wake up, Harry. Time for lunch."

Harry sat up from his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? On that note, this day was pretty long. He glanced at the watch clipped to Nurse Joanne's pocket. Half one. Nurse Joanne left, leaving Harry to gain full conscience and to make his way down to the dining room.

He didn't care about Zayn and Liam sat opposite him again. In fact, he ignored every one of their questions. They weren't there, as far as he was concerned. He didn't look at them, instead fixing his gaze to a blonde haired, blue eyed boy. Yeah, he may have had the same iconic features as Louis, but this boy was nothing like Louis.

Niall, Harry remembers Liam calling him. The Niall who was shy and shivery, distant from everyone, alone in the corner, shoulders hunched, eyes clicking around, sandwich missing his mouth a few times before he managed to take a timid nibble. Louis was loud, bold and in your face. No similarities there.

Harry stood up, picking up his own plate of tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches and left the complaining Zayn and Liam behind. He walked across the dining room, ignoring all the stares- because he knew they were staring, even though they weren't looking at him, he still knew they were watching- and sat down across from Niall.

"Aren't you gonna say sorry?"

Niall jumped, quivered, and then let out a squeal. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Harry glared at him. "What was your problem? Attacking me like that?"

"They were staring."

Harry narrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, I know they were staring at me--"

"At me!" Niall, surprised by his own voice, dropped his sandwich onto his lap. He apologised, as if it were Harry's sandwich he had dropped, and picked it up, throwing it onto his place as if it were a hot clump of coal.

Harry pulled a face. "You alright?" He didn't mean to say it- in fact, he wanted to beat Niall up, he was so pathetic- but Niall nodded his head before he could change his words.

"I'm fine. Just--" Niall's eyes rolled and he grasped the edge of the table.

"You alright?" Harry said it again, and again he didn't mean it, not really, but his arm lashed out and he grabbed Niall's wrists. Niall's eyes rolled back, and he slowly lent forward and pressed his forehead to the table.

"I feel dizzy."

"Why?"

Niall coughed quietly, and Harry couldn't tell whether or not he was crying. "They all just keep staring."

Harry scoffed. "Well of course they would, you git, making a big fuss like that."

Niall slowly looked up, locking eyes with Harry. Harry clutched the edge of his seat and turned to look at Zayn. "You know, you're the first person to sit down with me."

"What, are you gonna give me a medal, or something?"

Niall chuckled, but then his breathing rate increased, hyperventilating, and Harry watched as his chest rose up and down like an air pump. No, it was more like Niall's chest itself was the balloon, and it grew and grew, more air going it, not enough going out, and Niall was red in the face- no, purple, and his fingers clutched the table and then he stopped, paused for a brief second, and exploded, fragments of meat and flesh splattered everywhere. Niall was dead. Well, not dead, just fainted with his face in his sandwich, two nurses at his side. They stared at Harry, but didn't say anything, just nudged Niall back to conscienceness and motioned for Harry to walk away.

Harry stood up, turning his back on the insanely anxious boy and left the canteen.

Louis caught him up in the empty corridor on the fifth floor. "Hey, Harry."

"I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"Well, tough luck. I'm here to stay."

"Leave me alone, Louis. I want to be alone."

"What, like Niall?"

Harry glared at Louis. Louis seemed more bouncy now, more vivid, more colourful and Harry could see the target board with the giant red 'X' on Louis' nose, waiting for Harry to punch him square in the face.

"You know this place has a library, right?"

Harry walked faster, trying to out-walk the boy. "I don't c--"

"You don't care, yes, I get it. Geez, you're so anti-social!"

Harry flinched, stopped walking, glared at Louis, but then continued like nothing happened. He wished Louis ignored it.

"Anti-social, eh?"

"Shut up."

"What, you got some anxiety disorder like Niall?"

"Shut up."

"Nah, you're to loud for that. Or maybe you're a psychopath, like Zayn?"

He wanted to question Zayn being a psychopath, but then it made sense. "Shut up."

"Who was the other lad you were with? Liam, wasn't it? Well, I don't think you're as fuck up as him."

Liam seemed the most sane out of everyone Harry's met in this Hellhole. He stopped his ignorance and turned to Louis. "What?"

"Liam is a pyromaniac."

"What does that mean?"

Louis smirked. "He likes to play with fire..." Louis' smirked became dark, and the lights flickered, and the storm clouds drew close outside, and the walls closed in, and everyone remained the same as it was, "... and burn things."

Harry shrugged. "So?" Harry continued walking.

Louis caught up, tugging on Harry's shoulder. "Do you realise how many people Liam's killed?" Harry shrugged. "His entire family, for one. His mother, his father... his two sisters."

"Do I care?"

"Yes, yes you do!"

"No, no I don't." Harry glared over his shoulder at the boy.

Louis kept bouncing along. "His mother, Harry. He killed his mother."

Harry stopped in his tracks. They were outside their room, the room they shared, their room, and Harry squinted his eyes and glared at Louis. "One day I woke up, and I found my mum dead in the kitchen. She was the one who drove me here."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I..." Harry turned around, opened the door, walked in and slammed the door in Louis face.


	6. Smile

Harry wanted to say that he was dragged, screaming and kicking down the corridors and down the stairs to the Group Discussion Room, but that would be a lie, because Harry walked calmly and sat down in silence on one of the cold, solid plastic chairs that were placed in a circle.

"Let's start off," the therapist with the big, bushy, pedoish 70s moustache said, addressing the twenty-odd patients in front of him, "by welcoming our newest member of the family, Harry Styles."

The room chorused 'hello's to Harry, to which Harry glared at them all individually.

"Now, Harry's in here because--"

A girl with thin, blonde hair screamed, and two nurses who were stood by the door rushed over to stop the blood spewing from the bazooka hole in her chest. Their injection was to put her down, like an animal, and she collapsed. "Sorry," one of the nurses said, and Harry noticed it was directed at him, "Eleanor has panic attacks sometimes."

The therapist awkwardly smiled. "Right, people, onwards with our session." He sat backwards on his chair, straddling the seat, hands folded on the top of the backrest. "So, today let's talk about our feelings." Harry rolled his eyes. "So, Emma-" Mr Freddy-Mercury-look-alike smiled at a shaky girl to his left "-what did you feel this morning?"

Emma closed her eyes, clutching her knees, as if straining to think back to this morning. "Er..." she mumbled, and she shook more as she spoke. "I felt... magical."

"Very good," the therapist- Harry didn't care what his name was- said. "And why did you feel magical?"

Emma lent closer to her mentor, as if telling a secret. "I felt magical, because the fairies told me that King Niall of the Leprechauns wanted my hand in marriage."

Harry snorted, covering his mouth in laughter.

"Harry!" He thought it was the therapist, but it was Liam on the other side of the circle, glaring at him. Niall was sat next to him- since when were they so close- and Liam gently placed a hand on Niall's shoulder.

The therapist- who Harry had concluded was quite crap at his job- coughed to bring the group back to his attention. "Settle down. Now, Ed..." A ginger haired lad looked up. "What were you feeling this morning?"

Ed cocked his head, looking up, thinking. "Well, I was alright this morning-"

"That's good, Ed."

"- but then a lad from Storey 3 called me by my last name, and I just lost it."

"Lost it, how?"

"I just-" Ed waves his hands, pointing to the centre of the circle "- I was there again."

"Did you do the breathing exercises I told you to do?" Ed nodded. "Very good. Harry." Harry looked up. "What about you?"

Harry's mind went blank. This morning. He woke up, ate breakfast with Niall, sat in the garden with Louis, shouted at Louis...

"I felt crap."

"Language, Harry."

"English."

The therapist rolled his eyes. "Why were you feeling like rubbish?"

"Because," Harry paused, glancing at all the people staring at him. They were judging him.

Niall grasped his heart, his lungs ballooning again, and his heart exploded, blood splatting from his mouth, and he collapsed forward onto the floor, except Liam caught him and Niall sat up, calm again, and Harry wandered whether the attack really happened or not. No one seemed to react- it was either a norm or not real- and the therapist moved onto a new patient.

They went around the group, and when everyone had talked about their feelings, they were told to pair up and talk about their illnesses. Harry seriously wanted to question their teacher's technique, but he had heard somewhere about 'making friends with your demons helps sooth the pain' or some hippie shit like that at some point or another, probably from his sister, who spent too much time in concerts and conventions to get a job.

Ed ended up being Harry partner, which he was kinda glad of. Most of the other patients in the room were crazy- like, proper crazy- and when Ed had spoke, he seemed a decent guy. Harry pointed it out when they sat next to each other.

"You not crazy. You seem alright.You're not on work experience or anything, are you?"

Ed laughed vaguely, but then smile. "Well, thanks. I guess I'm not really that crazy."

"Why'd they lock you up?" Harry glared through his eyelashes. "You been a bad boy, Eddie?"

Ed gave another laugh, a proper one this time, and for some strange reason Ed had thrusted his hand into Harry's stomach and had flicked a lighter on inside, cooking, burning his insides with a warm, fuzzy, flaming-fucking-burning hot feeling, and Harry suddenly wanted to punch the guy. He didn't though.

"I was normal before- no offence."

"None taken," Harry said, followed by a cold scoff. "I'm not crazy either. My Mum just wanted me out of the house because she spends too much money on me, and she's running out of money for crack."

Ed chuckled. "My parents didn't want me to go here." He paused for a moment, staring at the floor, thinking back. "I've been a lot of places they didn't want me to go. But," he smiled cheerily, "I thought it was best that I sign myself in here."

"Dude," Harry shifted in his seat, "you're- what- twenty two--"

"Twenty three."

"-- so why the fuck are you in here when you can be- oh, I don't know- prancing through daisy fields with some girl, or some shit like that?"

Ed looked grimly at the floor. "I guess it's cause I can't stand outside anymore."

"Dude, what fucked you up?"

Ed's smile was nonexistent on his face. He sighed, tilting his head to the side. "I went to Afghanistan when I was eighteen."

"Oh, you're a soldier?"

Ed shook his head. "Nah. I was helping members of the Red Cross deliver health packs to citizens. We found a camp of women and children, so we were helping them when a man with a rifle ran in, threatening to kill them if we didn't give the enemy the health packs, so I---"

Harry frowned. He understood what Ed was saying. "You shot him."

Ed nodded. "They had given me a hand gun. And I killed him."

"So, what is wrong with you, exactly? Depression?"

Ed shrugged. "A little bit. They say it's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They said I'll get over it soon. I think I am getting over it."

"So, what happens with that?"

"The symptoms? I've only really got the nightmares and the flashbacks. Kinda glad it's only that; I don't want to be piling a list of things wrong with me onto these people." He nodded to the therapist, who really shouldn't be caressing that teenage girl's arm like that.

Harry was confused. "You seem pretty okay talking to me about it."

"Like I said, I'm getting over it."

Harry gave him a smile, and for once, he genuinely meant it. He felt like saying something to Ed, but then the group was being called back and Harry sat down next to the crazy brown haired boy who won't stop rocked forward and backwards.


	7. Drown

Harry stumbled into the library-- practically the only room he hadn't explored on his first full day, two hours left before lights out-- and he found it to be quite the sanctuary. Granted, it was a dark, full room, lit only with small lamps on the end of each bookshelf, dusty ground where beggars sat, a shiver, a breeze, and the horse and carriage rode past, and for a second Harry was lost in Victorian London. But this was a library, a dirty library, a dirty library that had a clear, solid, white line down the middle of the almost black with dust carpet that segregated the fiction from fact. Harry wished his brain had this white line.

The fiction side of the room, Harry decided, was like a jungle-- no, more like the savanna. The shelves were bushes, thick thorny bushes where antelopes and zebras got tangled in, and the lions would prowl, jump, attack, bring their prey to their mercy. Rip, slobber, chew, growl: the fiction readers were defiantly not in reality. This was a library in a mental institution, and suddenly the library seemed more of an appropriate place to put these animals.

The non-fiction section was quieter, to say the least. It had on inhabitant, a boy with slick-back hair and thick-rimmed glasses, and Harry ignored him, sitting on the far side of the section and him, picking up the first book his hand lay on: psychology. Despite the roll of his eyes, Harry sat down on the dust-field full of dust-bunnies and opened the thick, hardback book.

He found it. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

'Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder caused by very stressful, frightening or distressing events, such as road accidents, abuse, witnessing violence, military combat and natural disasters. Symptoms of PTSD involve flashbacks, nightmares, avoidance, hyper-arousal and insomnia.'

Poor Ed.

'Pyromania is an impulse control disorder in which individuals repeatedly fail to resist the urge to cause fires on purpose in order to relieve tension. Pyromaniacs will usually feel stressed or anxious before starting a fire, but will calm down once the fire has been lit.'

Liam. That's why he has the burn mark.

'Psychopathy is traditionally defined as a personality disorder characterised by enduring antisocial behaviour, diminished empathy and remorse, and disinhibited or bold behaviour.'

Zayn.

'Gereral Anxiety Disorder (GAD) is a long-term condition that causes you to feel anxious about a wide range of situations and issues, rather than one specific event.Symptoms of GAD include feeling on edge, lack of concentration, irritability, dizziness, increased heart rate and/or breathing rate and headaches.'

Niall.

Harry closed the book, looking up to glance around the almost empty room. Why was Louis in this facility?

Harry found himself back in his room, and not a second after he lay down on his bed, Louis walked in, a smile on his face.

"Hey, Harry!" Louis flopped onto his bed. "How was your day?"

Harry groaned. He had only been in here one day (plus a little bit, including yesterday) and he still hated this Goddamn mansion as much as he did when he first arrived. He wanted to turn and face the wall and ignore Louis, but he didn't. He felt the bed tip and he was facing the shorter boy.

Louis smiled again, pulling his shirt up and over his head to get undressed. He pulled his pants down as well, not caring about Harry watching as his balls bounced as he lent over to pick up his pyjamas.

Harry scoffed. "You're pretty bold, considering you--"

"Considering, what?" Louis dressed, raised an eyebrow at Harry. Harry knew what he wanted to say, it was right on the tip of his tongue, but he was suddenly confused as to why he wanted to say it, and instead buried himself under his covered and fell asleep.

Harry was drowning when he woke up. He spluttered and gasped, flaring his arms, trying to swim, but then he saw the cause of the water and suddenly he didn't care. "Stop fucking crying, Louis!

Louis went quiet, slightly guilty of waking Harry up, and pulled his pillow closer to his chest, trying to muffle his shaky breath and sniff.

Harry gritted his teeth. He couldn't go to sleep with this noise. "What the fuck is wrong, Louis?"

Louis pulled his face away from the pillow, wiping his nose with the side of his hand, smiling at the compassion Harry was trying not to send across the room. "I had a nightmare."

Harry widened his eyes and smirked. "You get them often?"

Louis nodded his head.

"In the daytime, as well?" Harry pressed. He slowly rose from his bed, watching as Louis nodded a second time, and planted himself next to the shivering boy. He carefully placed a hand on Louis' leg, giving it a sarcastic, comforting pat. "He did this to you, didn't he?"

Louis shut his eyes tight, feeling the way Harry's hand trailed up his thigh. He whimpered; Harry smirked. Harry placed his other hand on Louis' shoulder, pushing him down onto the bed. "Your daddy did this, didn't he?"

Louis nodded, and for some reason, he reached up, and Harry expected him to push, but he pulled, pulled Harry's head down, pulled their lips together, and Harry was drowning again, and again he woke up flaring, on the floor where Louis' bed once sat, morning light shining through the windows, and for once in his life Harry thought he was mad. Harry was crazy. He sighed, getting up and walking down for breakfast.

Zayn stopped him on the way downstairs. "Harry, you want a fag?" Zayn was stood halfway through the open fire exit leading to the fire escape stairs. He waves a box of cigarettes very discreetly, and Harry pulled a face. Zayn shrugged, popping one between his own lips and lighting it with a light yellow plastic lighter.

"Actually, Harry said.

Zayn smirked.


	8. Down

Liam was gone, Zayn didn't mention him, and Harry decided that he was fed up of soggy toast for breakfast. His hand still hurt, his wrist hurt more from where Zayn had grabbed it harshly, but he pushed it all aside and melted into the general discomfort of the dinning room.

"You know what?" Zayn said, smirking through his eyelashes at Harry, five-finger-fillet going on beneath his nose, "I'm gonna miss this place."

"Why, you leaving?"

Zayn shrugged. "Depends if they can let me go or not..."

"What if they don't let you go?"

"Then I can stay in control of this place and run a muck, like usual."

Harry bite his God-awful toast. "And if they let you leave?"

Zayn sniggered. "It's not about letting me leave, it's if they can let me go?"

"What do you mean, let you go?"

"God, Harry," Zayn laughed, "don't turn Elsa on me now, will ya?"

Harry laughed as well, and for the first time in a long time, he felt sane. He felt normal. Like Zayn was his friend, and that everything around him was starting to make sense, only it wasn't, because Zayn was a psychopath, and he wasn't able to make proper friends, and Zayn was----

"Fading."

"What?"

"Zayn, you're fading?"

Zayn rolled his eyes. "Damn it, they are letting go of me, aren't they?"

"Who are they?"

Zayn locked eyes with Harry, and Harry suddenly notice the lack of people around them. He glanced over his shoulder, and yes, Harry was alone with Zayn, only he wasn't, which he found out when he turned back. Black stone.

His feet were cold, that was the first thing that indicated to Harry that he wasn't where he was before. "I'm confused."

"Is that kid still talking to himself?" came a snarly voice from behind him, and Harry was too scared to turn around. He stayed in the corner, staring at the black stone wall.

A rattle of keys, metal turning, doors clunking, and a pair of heavy boots stopped behind where Harry was sat. "Harry?"

Harry turned slowly to look over his shoulder. "Doc?"

The doctor, no clothes presenting his title or job, raised an eyebrow at Harry. "You remember me?"

Harry waited a second, and yes, yes he did, he did remember this man. "Doctor Ivy."

Ivy smiled. "Welcome back, Harry."

"Where was I?" Harry glanced around his cell. "How long was I out."

Ivy flicked through a bunch of papers on a clipboard. "Just under two days. Like we predicted, the episodes are becoming less in time and proximity." The doctor paused, glancing the shaking boy up and down. "Was it the haunted mansion again?"

Harry wanted to shake his head, but didn't. "It was a mansion, but it was a youth mental institution."

"Ah, so even in the hallucination world, you're aware of your insanity?"

Harry nodded.

Doctor Ivy pulled a stool from in the corridor into Harry's cell and sat down on it, closing the door for good measure. "Harry," he began, a sudden solemn from the progression excitement before, "I have to ask, were the four boys there again?"

Harry nodded, looking down at his lap. "Yes, doctor."

"You know what this means." Ivy wrote a few things down on the papers, leaving the cold, damn cell in an eery silence for a moment. Ivy looked back up and tried to smile. "The split personality is still a problem."

"But doesn't it help?" Harry asked. He knew the consequences. "Each symptom, each part of me, it's different."

Ivy slowly took off his thin, rimmed glasses and held them on his lap. "I'm afraid not, Harry. Only when your mind can accept all five conditions as one can it start to properly heal."

"But I accepted them quickly," Harry tried, "Niall left quickly-- hardly saw him, actually-- and Louis vanished after I kissed him--"

"You kissed Louis?"

"He was fucking annoying! I was trying to evoke bad memories! But then Liam left when I burnt myself, and Zayn faded--"

"Harry!" The doctor lent forward and placed a hand gently on Harry's shoulder. "I can't be helped. The things you went through."

Harry shrugged his hand off his shoulder, shuffling on the floor to turn his back to Doctor Ivy. He closed his eyes. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Harry. But, you'll get over it."

"I have five mental illnesses!"

"Harry, it can't be helped. The things you went through."

Harry glared at Ivy. "You've already said that once."

"No I didn't." Ivy when white. "It's happening again, isn't it?"

"No!" Harry stood up from the stone floor and paced the room. "I'm not going back to talking to the wall with droll down my chin."

"Harry--"

"No!" Harry turned and growled at Ivy. "I don't care anymore!" His hand lashed out, grasped the stool from under the doctor, pulling it harshly away, smash, crash, splinters all over the wall behind him. There was a flash of white, and Harry was hugging himself again. Harry growled at the two man who appeared.

Ivy rose from the ground where he had fell, pushing his half-broken glasses onto his nose. He stared at Harry for a moment before sighing. "Harry, I really had faith in you." He breathed. "I thought this would be the last time."

And the Harry was out of his prison cell, out of the ward, and he felt happy as they took his into the clean, white room, and the needle didn't hurt at all, and blue eyes planted themselves behind his eyelids, and he faded into perdition with the memory of that one boy he just could not forget.

Doctor Ivy pressed his forehead against his oak desk. He could feel the tears welding behind his eyelids, but he couldn't let them go. He couldn't let go, and neither could Harry. He sighed. "Goddammit, Harry."

There was a knock on his door, and he sat up, taking a sip of water to try and whiten his reddened face, and granted permission to enter. Anne Cox, makeup ruined, shaking body, shoulders hunched, heart broken, sat in front of the doctor. He gave her a small smile which she couldn't return.

"Anne." She couldn't look him in the eyes, and for a patent's family member who he had come close with, it felt strange. Everything about this felt strange.

Anne chocked out a cough, wiping her eyes briefly before speaking. "Are you sure there was nothing you could have done?"

Ivy sighed again. "Anne, Harry's been in here for twenty years."

"But he was my baby!"

"That's the point. He still believed he was eighteen. He still believed he was a child." Ivy handed his close friend the box of tissues on his desk. "I've tried everything to help Harry. My whole career has been about saving this man."

Anne nodded. She understood.

Ivy closed his eyes as he spoke. "You couldn't do anything to help, Anne. You didn't know what your husband was doing to him. You didn't know about the raping, about the beatings. You couldn't do anything to help at all. He was already suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder when you moved out with him.  
"If I had been through the same, I would have emotionally numbed as well. A lot of patients find it easier to deal with everything if they don't feel anything at all.  
"But, after the things he's been through, of course he would become anxious-- paranoid, even. Too scared to go outside, too scared to answer the phone.  
"Fear always turned into hatred, Anne. Fear turns into hatred. He hated the world, hated everything about it. Like he told me eight years ago, he made it his mission to get rid of all the people in this world who did bad things. All the murderers, all the terrorists... all the rapists. The people he killed were criminals themselves. I'm not surprised you thought it was fair justice what your son did.  
"But killing people is stressful, and Harry obsession with fire from a young age didn't help. It can't be helped really, when you had an open-fire wood burner in his childhood home and his father smoked constantly.  
"The world Harry lived in, this fantasy world of hallucinations, none of it was real. His personality split, became five different people: Harry, Louis, Niall, Zayn and Liam. He would fade in and out of this world, each time being a different person, a different side of his condition. But two things would always happen each time: Harry would be in a mansion-- the house he grew up in-- and he would fall in love with Louis.  
"Nothing could be helped, Anne."

"You mean Harry couldn't be helped."

Doctor Ivy placed his glasses onto his desk. "Anne, they told me Harry was a lost case from the beginning, from the moment they caught him in that serial killers house with the murderer in flames in his bath. They told me he was beyond broken. They gave me two years to fix him, and two years became five, and five became twenty, and twenty became the deadline." Ivy swallowed a chocked cough. "He was a murderer, and from the start, they wanted to put him down."

"They killed my baby!" And Anne was crying again. "He didn't deserve to be killed like that! They put him down like a dog!"

"Lethal injection doesn't hurt, Anne."

"I don't care, you killed my baby!"

Anne left, the door slammed, and Doctor Ivy placed his forehead against his desk again. He felt hopeless, lost. Twenty years of trying to fix one man, and all the while he had only broken himself. His fingers traced the handle of his desk draw, and he suddenly knew how to fix it.


End file.
